


Right Across the Hall

by KoraKwidditch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Big Dick Charlie Weasley, Charlie Weasley is a hottie mcthottie, Christmas at the Burrow (Harry Potter), Confessions, Eavesdropping, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry Potter is a Good Friend, Harry Potter is a Little Shit, Mutual Pining, Not Epilogue Compliant, POV Hermione Granger, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, tattooed Charlie Weasley, wizarding tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:55:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28085034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KoraKwidditch/pseuds/KoraKwidditch
Summary: Hermione Granger could count on one hand the things she liked most.It was an unfortunate circumstance that one of them just happened to be her best friends older brother.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Charlie Weasley
Comments: 31
Kudos: 328
Collections: Dirty Festivus 2020





	Right Across the Hall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyKenz347](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKenz347/gifts).



> For LadyKenz347! I hope you enjoy it :) Merry Dirty Festivus!
> 
> Huge thank you to my alpha, MalfoysRaven, and my love and beta, FaeOrabel. 
> 
> Thank you to TriDogMom for hosting this super fun fest!!

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/143851546@N04/50724402947/in/dateposted-public/)

**Right Across the Hall**

Hermione could name on one hand the things she liked most. 

The first, obviously, was reading. The second was the scent of spearmint—which, unfortunately, thanks to Amortentia, most everyone knew. The third was the colour blue, and the fourth was the taste of chocolate nougat. 

But the fifth. 

The fifth she would take to her grave. 

It was an unfortunate circumstance for Hermione that the fifth thing she liked most just happened to be her best friend's older brother. It didn’t help in any way that he was charming and attractive, nor that when he smiled broadly, a distinguishable dimple appeared on his right cheek. The butterflies always rampaged inside her stomach when Hermione saw that dimple. 

It was an even more unfortunate circumstance that her other best friend knew of her _affliction_ and always teased her for it. Waggling his black eyebrows at Sunday dinners, or volunteering her to help him clean up after eating. Harry even once suggested that she would love nothing more than to join said brother on a trip of all things. 

As if Charlie Weasley would want to take a trip with her. 

Hermione was his opposite in every way. Where he was carefree and adventurous, she was rigid and circumspect. She had her moments in her youth, to be sure; Dumbledore's Army, hunting for Horcruxes—for Merlin's sake, she even helped battle an entire army of Death Eaters.

But perhaps that was why, at the age of twenty-three, Hermione wanted nothing more than to live comfortably. She relished in her routine, waking up every day to go to her mundane nine-to-five job, making simple dinner plans with her friends on the weekends. 

Yet, there was a piece of her, the Gryffindor lioness, that screamed for excitement—yearned for the rush of adrenaline, the racing heart, the tingle of anticipation. It was deeply buried, only rising to the surface when she stared into those deep blue orbs across the dining table. 

It was where she found herself that Sunday, placed directly in front of Charlie—thanks to a meddling Harry. The man had been away for over a month, his chair sitting empty along with Hermione’s stomach. Every Sunday he was absent was always gut-wrenching, coming to the Burrow only to discover he still hadn’t returned. 

But now he was back for Christmas, and Hermione had to shove her feelings deep _deep_ down. 

Watching as the leather thong failed to keep his red hair pulled back, long tendrils fell into his face as he ate his food. Hermione didn’t know when he had decided to grow his hair out, but she wanted nothing more than to run her fingers through it and find out if it was as soft as it looked. She attempted not to stare longingly at the man. The sound of her heart thrumming in her ears nearly drowned out the scraping of forks against porcelain and the chatter of conversation. 

Charlie currently spoke to Fred, the two prattling on about whatever new invention that was sure to take Wizarding England by storm, as they all always did. There wasn’t a corner of the country that hadn’t been touched by Weasleys’ Wizards Wheezes. 

Hermione tried in vain to pay attention to the food in front of her, Molly’s famous toad-in-the-hole lying lovingly atop the white dish. But her ears heard the vibrato of his laugh as Fred told a joke, the deepness of his voice as he replied to a question. 

And her treacherous eyes couldn’t help but watch him. 

That dimple—that damned dimple—appeared on his cheek as he grinned at something Fred whispered in his ear, causing Hermione to suck in a silent breath. She held it and averted her gaze back to her plate, slowly letting it out as she forced herself to take a bite of her food. The buttery taste of the pastry turned to ash in her mouth, her nerves at being around the Dragon Keeper heightened to insensible levels. Her stomach hadn’t ceased fluttering since he’d said hello to her in the living room hours ago, and it did nothing to help her appetite now. 

“Hermione?” Ginny asked next to her, placing a warm hand against her arm. 

All eyes turned to her, including the ones that haunted her dreams, and she felt heat spread over her neck and cheeks. The plate in front of her suddenly became quite interesting, and she kept her gaze firmly planted on it. She only hoped Charlie didn’t realise she had basically been staring at him. 

“Sorry, Ginny. What were you saying?” Hermione replied, pushing the food around on her plate. 

Ginny narrowed her eyes but continued rambling about her current season with the Holyhead Harpies. Hermione nodded as she spoke and risked a bold glance back to Charlie through her curls. Warmth spread from her stomach to her extremities to find those sapphire orbs on her, and he cracked a smile when their gazes met. 

Heat coursed straight to her centre as that dimple appeared in a secret smile meant only for her. Hermione returned his smile, though hers was forced. As soon as Charlie turned back to Fred, it dropped from her face as a blush spread across her cheeks. That smile would keep her awake tonight. 

She didn’t expect to get much sleep that night anyway. How was she meant to, when Charlie’s room would only be a stone’s throw away? The very idea had her turning to a puddle in her chair. 

The rest of that night passed by as uneventfully as any other. Bill and Fleur sat with Molly and Arthur to discuss married life. Harry and Ginny cuddled in the corner. Fred and George played pranks on Ron while Percy yelled at them. Occasionally Ron’s new girlfriend, Susan Bones, would be on the receiving end. That had been a welcomed surprise six months ago, when Ron announced he was finally dating again. He and Hermione had been split for nearly two years, after they had been together for barely one. And though the split was amicable, it had taken both of them a long time to date again. 

Hermione hadn’t even started, truth be told. Her job as a defence lawyer for magical creatures kept her quite busy. Most of her days were spent pouring over law books, Wizengamot business, or meeting with clients. 

Plus, there was that pair of sapphire eyes across the living room that kept her from really wanting anything else. 

Charlie sat in a large armchair, just staring at her. His leg was tossed over the other, one hand draped atop the arm of the chair, fingers rubbing together rhythmically. The other—Merlin help her—the other held his face, elbow propped on the other arm, his pinky finger tracing the swell of his bottom lip. When Charlie’s tongue darted out to lick the tip, Hermione felt her whole body set ablaze. 

Her eyes followed it’s movement, occasionally darting back up to the molten blue gaze that never left her. Receptors fired in her brain, telling her that she should move—standing ramrod straight in a doorway was a bit peculiar. But her legs stayed glued in place, feet unmoving. What was happening? Why was Charlie doing this? Why wouldn’t he look away from her?

Then he licked it again, and Hermione whimpered. 

“You alright, Hermione?” Fred asked, slinging an arm around her shoulders. It caused her to jump out of whatever spell Charlie had put on her. “Your face is red.” 

“It’s just a bit hot,” Hermione replied. “I—I think I’ll step outside for a moment.” 

She Accio’d her coat and raced out the door before anyone could get a good look at her face. Slipping her arms haphazardly into the sleeves, she took several deep breaths of frigid winter air. The snow crunched underfoot as she walked towards the garden, and Hermione tried desperately to calm down. 

She could stand in front of the entire Wizengamot to defend a werewolf, but Merlin forbid Charlie Weasley lick his _pinky finger._ Even the mention of it caused a thrill to course through her stomach. How would she survive for the next three days? Christmas certainly couldn’t come fast enough. At the very least, she had some work to distract her; surely reviewing a client’s case about being wrongfully terminated would get rid of all perverted thoughts of Charlie. 

Hermione brushed off snow from the stone bench, casting a warm charm to it before settling on the seat. The forest before her stretched like a winter wonderland, icicles dripping from the branches, snow surrounding the trunks. That snow-padded silence let her heart return to a normal rhythm. Winter truly was her favourite season. 

“You alright?” A deep voice broke the peaceful atmosphere beside her. 

Hermione turned, and her heart returned to it’s racing speed. “I’m fine.” 

Charlie leant down, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark green peacoat. He looked regal with the way his white scarf folded around his neck, leather boots laced up tightly, and snug trousers tucked into them. “Are you sure?” 

The way he dragged out the word ‘sure’ made his breath ghost across her face, and warning bells dinged in her head. Too close, he was much too close. 

“Yes,” Hermione breathed back.

Charlie stood straight, though a grin curled his lips, and now his dimple joined the fray. No. No, there was never even a chance she would survive till Christmas. 

“I’m sorry if I freaked you out in there. Sometimes I stare when I’m tired.” 

And just like that, Hermione’s heart plummeted to her feet. “Oh—oh! No, of course. I’m wonderful; it was just... The fire was too hot. I just needed a moment.” 

Charlie nodded, “Alright, well, don’t stay out too long. Wouldn’t want you to turn into an icicle too.” 

They both smiled at his joke, even if it was a bit corny. And then he placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed, making Hermione’s heart jump from her feet to her throat. A layer of fabric separated their skin, but it didn’t matter. Heat radiated from his hand through the coat. 

Then he walked back inside, leaving Hermione alone. 

Gasping for air, Hermione rubbed at her face and bent over. Merlin save her—she was doomed. 

* * *

Hermione tossed in her sheets, her eyes heavy yet mind wandering. Her heart thumped with every creak of the floorboards; skin tingled with every howl of the wind. 

Charlie had touched her. 

The weight sat on her shoulder like a ghost, echoing the reminder with each movement. Sleep was far from her grasp, so Hermione rose, careful not to step on that loud floorboard next to her bed. Luckily she had no roommates to worry about, having been given Percy’s old room. He had insisted on staying at his own flat for the holidays, something about work business, but Hermione was positive it had nothing to do with that and everything to do with his new receptionist—Pansy Parkinson. Oh, how Hermione longed to see Molly’s face when Percy finally told her he was dating a Slytherin. 

She was glad, however, that she didn’t have to share a room with the Potters like she used to—Ginny and Harry were not as quiet as they thought they were. And of course, having Percy’s room meant Charlie’s was right across the hall. 

Slipping on her dressing gown, Hermione slowly opened her bedroom door and tiptoed out. She avoided the floorboard she knew creaked louder than the others, careful not to wake anyone else on her trip to the kitchen. A nice cup of tea sounded exactly like just the thing to get her to bed. 

Unfortunately, she had to pass Charlie’s bedroom door on her path to the stairs, and her hands shook when she noticed light gleaming through the crack in the door. Sounds of rumpled fabric and quiet grunts floated in the hall, and Hermione crept closer. 

She shouldn’t be doing this. It was a total invasion of Charlie’s privacy, even if the door was cracked. But she couldn’t stop her face from peering through the sliver of light. 

An orange glow illuminated shadows across his room; towering black silhouettes bounced against the walls. The candles on his nightstand burned brightly, but there was something even more startling that caught Hermione’s eye. 

Charlie Weasley was... was _masturbating_. 

His hand stroked himself vigorously, forearms tense under the strain he exerted. Sheets tangled between his legs as they moved around in the throes of passion. Whatever Charlie was envisioning had to have been good. 

Hermione covered her mouth with her hand. She should leave, turn around right there and go back to her room. But her eyes stayed transfixed on his ministrations. Merlin, he was huge. Pale and freckled and all muscle. Expertly crafted tattoos littered his torso and upper arms. Hermione was surprised by them; she never envisioned him to have tattoos—or for her to find them utterly attractive.

His hands were some of the largest Hermione had ever seen, and even still, his cock looked massive. Her mouth suddenly felt like the Sahara. 

Liquid heat pooled between her legs as she continued to watch him. Charlie’s other hand came to cup his bollocks, tugging on them gently as his stroking continued at a steady pace. Those perfect pink lips popped open as his head tilted back on his pillow, hair spread out around him. 

“Fuck, Hermione,” Charlie moaned into the cold air, thigh muscles flexing deliciously.

Hermione squeaked as her name was uttered, and Charlie’s head whipped to the door. Their gazes momentarily locked before she turned like she should have ages ago, running directly back to her room. 

The walls seemed to contract to the beat of her heart as she pressed her back against the door. 

She had just watched Charlie Weasley masturbate. And he had moaned her name.

The bed creaked as she fell on top of it, and the feathers of her pillow did little to suppress the groan of frustration she yelled into it. What was she supposed to do? Did she confront him? Say nothing? 

That last one sounded the most reasonable. How was she supposed to explain that she had watched him for nearly five whole minutes? 

A soft knock had her curls whipping around her as she looked to her door. Oh, good Godric, he was here—came to yell at her no doubt. Fight or flight began to echo in her subconscious. Fight, she would fight; she was a brave lioness. 

Taking a deep breath, Hermione stood and went straight for the knob, wasting no time in prying the door open. And there was the one person on Earth she didn’t want to see. His trousers seemed haphazardly thrown on; only the fly was closed while the button sat opened against a ginger trail of hair. Hermione couldn’t help her eyes raking up his form—up to his muscled, tattooed torso and chest, thick freckled arms, and finally a panicked face. The pale blue dragon across his heart let out a puff of smoke with each ragged breath Charlie took. The grey ink swirled down his stomach and disappeared around his hip. 

Sweet mother of Merlin.

“Charlie,” she breathed. She had to play this off like she had no idea why he was there. “What are you—” 

“Do you want me?” 

“What?” Hermione blinked at Charlie’s forwardness. Tangled ginger locks tumbled over his shoulder as he leant closer to her, the glitter of his eyes visible even in the dark room. 

“Just answer the question, Hermione. Do. You. Want. Me?” Each word was punctuated, pale pink lips emphasising the words. 

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip, shivering when Charlie’s gaze followed the movement and darkened considerably. Of course she wanted him. He had to know by now the effect he had on her. But if she were to say yes, what would that do? One night with Charlie wouldn’t be enough. 

She knew the moment she tasted his lips, Hermione would be done for. No, no, she couldn’t allow that; she should tell him no and shut the door. The barrier of the wood would be sure to help. Out of sight, out of mind, right? 

But instead, oh instead, her traitorous lips muttered, “Yes.” 

And then he kissed her. 

Hesitation didn’t seem to exist in Charlie Weasley’s vocabulary. He was demanding, claiming her lips instantly, gripping her arm to pull her closer. His other hand flexed against the wood door frame as if he placed both hands on her, she would shatter. Then his tongue swiped her upper lip, and Hermione was lost, drowning in a wave of desire. 

Her skin tingled, electricity raked down her spine and shot bolts of lightning to her extremities. Every nerve fired at once, and when Charlie snaked his arm around her waist and placed it at the small of her back to press her closer, she went entirely under the scent of leather and cut grass. 

And fuck—spearmint. 

Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer to her. Where their chests met, she felt as if she stood in front of a raging inferno. Or maybe the heat was more in her imagination.

Charlie pulled away first, settling his forehead against hers as they both caught their breath. A grin tugged at his lips, that dimple on his right cheek popping out instantly. Emboldened by their bodies still pressed together, Hermione brought her hand down to cup his face, her thumb tracing the outline of the dimple. It deepened as her thumb grazed it. 

“I have wanted to do that for so long,” Charlie whispered, his fingers tightening on the wood, while the others at the small of her back rubbed a gentle circle. Every pass across the lower half of her spine sent fireworks across her skin. 

“I—um. Me too.” Hermione felt heat on her cheeks. She meant to be more articulate, but the moment she tried to use her voice, Charlie’s fingers pressed harder against her back, so it caught in her throat. She was a lawyer; she used large words, spoke eloquently in a room full of people, and yet just the weight of Charlie’s fingers was enough to tongue-tie her. 

He pressed a tender kiss to her cheek that left her feeling weightless before dropping his hand and pulling away. Hermione’s arms flopped to her side unceremoniously, and Charlie reached out to take one in hand. Fire trailed across her knuckles as he kissed them, his lips soft. Then his teeth grazed the ridge, and Hermione swore her arm caught fire. 

“I’ll leave you to sleep.” Then he turned and walked across the hall to his room, looking back at her to toss her a dimpled smile. The door closed behind him with a faint click. 

Hermione couldn’t move; her body felt heavy yet featherlight all at the same time. Attempting to shuffle back inside her room, she collapsed atop her bed as her knees gave out. The ghost of teeth could still be felt on her hand, his lips on hers. Hermione threaded her hands through her curls and yanked to centre herself as she curled into a ball while she laughed. 

Charlie had kissed her—had said he wanted her. 

But then he had left her alone. 

Hermione assumed he was attempting to be gentlemanly, and it warmed her chest to know he had that much consideration for her. But she didn’t want that from him; she wanted _him_ , wanted his thick thighs pressed against hers. She wanted those strong arms to circle her in a protective embrace; his fiery hair to mix with her brunette. But mostly, Hermione wanted to feel that large cock inside of her.

And how dare he just leave it at that, without even asking what she thought. She would have invited him in; pulled him by the waistband of his trousers if he had asked. Anger flared in Hermione the longer she thought about it. Charlie didn’t have a right to dictate how she felt, and she was undoubtedly going to tell him just that. 

Hermione tiptoed to his door, knocking as gently as he had before. It pried open instantly as if he had been standing in front of it. Charlie looked the same, his trousers still unbuttoned and no shirt to be seen. 

Glaring into his surprised eyes, Hermione felt the moment her brain turned to mush, “I can’t sleep.” 

Charlie pulled her back into an earth-shattering kiss instantly. 

Hermione stepped into the room, the door closing soundlessly behind her. Charlie pressed her against the rough wood, his hands roaming from her face down to her neck, and squeezing her shoulders. It was obvious he didn’t know how far to go, so Hermione broke the kiss to reassure him. 

“I want you, Charlie,” she mumbled. “Touch me.” 

Apparently, until then, Charlie had been holding back. 

His lips crashed on hers as his hands dropped to her waist, squeezing the covered flesh roughly as he continued down. His broad palms wrapped around the back of her thighs and lifted her up in one decisive movement. 

Hermione yelped into his mouth, but Charlie didn’t react—only took the opportunity to press himself harder against her. When his fingers dug further into her thighs as she wrapped her legs around his waist, Hermione whimpered with desire. 

And then she felt it. The expansive length of him wedged against her core, only her knickers and his trousers between them.

“How much do you want, Hermione?” Charlie asked as he trailed kisses down her neck. “I’ll give you whatever you ask for.” 

“All of it. I want all of it.” Hermione moaned out, her voice breathy and wanton. 

The feel of a smile curling Charlie’s lips against her neck had Hermione’s heart stuttering. Had she made a mistake? When Charlie began to undo the belt of her robe, Hermione knew the answer. 

No. No, she hadn’t; she wanted Charlie. Desperately. Fully. 

The tie fell to the floor silently, her dressing gown opening and revealing the fact she wore little beneath it beside an old oversized t-shirt that bunched around her waist. It exposed her black silk undies and bare legs, and Charlie audibly growled. 

Hermione’s back pressed harder against the door as his hands gripped the tops of her thighs, thumbs leaving trails of fire as they ghosted across the insides. A jerk of her hips brought his thumbs closer to the one spot she wanted him to touch, yet he did not. 

Instead, he kissed her again, pulling breath from her lungs with the intensity of it as his hands squeezed tightly. Then they quickly reached around to grip her arse and pulled her from the door. Hermione’s hands scrambled to wrap around Charlie’s neck as he walked them further into the room. 

Hermione hit the bed with a gasp as Charlie hovered above her, their kiss never breaking. Relaxing her legs, Hermione placed them on the edge of the frame, and Charlie pressed further against her. 

She just wanted him, enough with the teasing; if he continued, she would combust. 

“Charlie,” Hermione whispered as she pulled back, chest heaving to catch a breath. “I want you—please.” 

Hermione had never seen what fire did to sapphire. If the gem melted the same as metal, she imagined that’s exactly what Charlie’s eyes looked like at that moment. Liquid sapphire. 

His kiss turned fervourous as he shimmied off his trousers, like a thirsty man who just found water. Hermione felt sexy—wanted—but most importantly, she felt cherished. 

Pushing back on Charlie’s chest to get him to stand, Hermione pulled off her shirt, knickers the only thing left on her body. His cock jumped in front of her, and Hermione couldn’t help but flick her gaze toward it. 

It was indisputably bigger up close than what she had seen from the doorway or felt pressed against her. 

Mouth dry with nerves, Hermione reached a shaking hand up to grip him around the base. Charlie bucked into her grasp when she gently squeezed, and fuck—her fingers couldn’t even touch. 

Glancing up to find Charlie’s head thrown back in ecstasy, Hermione felt emboldened. She leant over and darted her tongue out across the tip. The groan that came from Charlie ruined Hermione’s pants instantly. 

When she wrapped her lips around the head, he moaned again. It was low and echoed inside her chest, sending electricity straight to her core. As she began to move her head rhythmically, Charlie ran his fingers through her hair. The gentle touch relaxed her, encouraging her to take more, try for more. She wanted to be so good for him. 

Then he tugged at the strands when his cock hit the back of her throat and Hermione made the mistake of moaning. 

Charlie tugged her from his cock instantly, pushing her onto her back with his body. His heat consumed her as he lay atop her again, peppering kisses and gentle bites all over her neck. He sat up on one elbow, the hand still tangled in her hair. The other travelled down her neck, nails scraping against the skin softly. When he reached her breast, he gripped it fully and squeezed. 

Hermione let out a surprised gasp and arched into his hand. Charlie bucked against her so hard she was surprised the bed still stood on four legs. 

His kisses began to trail downward, both hands moving to grip her breasts. Teeth bit into her sensitive skin, and Hermione sucked in a sharp breath again. A red circle marked her skin where Charlie had bit the top of her breast, and a curious thrill went through her. It excited her to know she would have a private mark to remind her of this. No one else would know of its existence except for her. 

Charlie took that moment to pull a nipple into his mouth and flick his tongue over it, causing Hermione to lose all train of thought on her private mark. 

“These are so perfect,” he mumbled as he pulled back, wasting no time before claiming it again. 

The ministrations continued as Hermione wriggled beneath him, her heated core continuing to brush against his length. His hand gripped her breast fully, squeezing delightfully in time with his tongue. His other hand, however, had left her right breast to trail a path of hellfire down her stomach. 

Hermione knew its destination, and her skin broke out in goosebumps with anticipation. “Touch me, Charlie.” 

The words seemed to do the trick, as Charlie bit her nipple a little harder than he previously had, his travelling hand gapping the distance and pushing directly against her covered clit. Hermione saw stars. 

She threw her head against the mattress and arched her back as Charlie’s fingers rubbed circles on her knickers. Low moans vibrated in her throat and she moved her hands to take the final scrap of clothing off. She needed direct contact; she needed to feel more. 

Their hands scrambled together as Charlie got the hint she wanted to take the pants off, and his strong arms yanked them down her legs in one fluid movement. They returned to their positions immediately, though Charlie’s lips moved from her nipples to her mouth. His fingers now rubbed gently across her bare clit, occasionally swiping up and down her sex. 

Then he pressed a finger into her, and Hermione broke the kiss to bite out a swear. 

Charlie grinned and kissed the side of her exposed neck, “Fuck, huh? What a dirty mouth you have there, Hermione.” 

He pressed the finger further into her, pumping once, twice, before adding another. Hermione swore again, and this time Charlie bit her shoulder. 

“I wonder what you’ll moan when I actually fuck you.” His hot breath ghosted across her ear, sending a bolt straight down her spine. 

Hermione gripped his arms roughly, nails digging into the skin. Charlie didn’t seem to care; in fact, he seemed to revel that he brought her so close to the brink of insanity. Moans and pants left her mouth as he pumped her closer to the edge. When his cock brushed against her hip, she fell over it without hesitation. Bursts of colour exploded behind her eyelids as they snapped shut, an involuntary cry leaving her lips. Charlie kissed her and slackened his pace as she rode out her orgasm, nails no longer digging into his skin but instead wrapped gently. 

She felt as if a weight had lifted from her chest while she floated above the sheets. 

Then Charlie bucked against her hip again, and the weight returned to sink her into the mattress. His gentle kisses across her face and whispered words of encouragement kept her afloat as she came back to her body.

“So perfect,” Charlie muttered against her cheek, his hand leaving her centre to massage her hips. “Beautiful.” 

The dragon across his heart now breathed fire, and Hermione knew why from the jumping pulse-point in Charlie’s neck as he looked at her. The liquid sapphire still swirled, though they darkened considerably—like someone had added onyx to the blue pools. Her fingers trailed gently up and down his muscled stomach, tracing a line across a snitch’s wing on his waist. Charlie shivered as she went lower. 

She gripped him again, though now her hands were sure of their intent. His skin was soft as she pumped him, and his fingers no longer rubbed her gently but instead gripped her roughly. Hermione felt as if she were being used as an anchor, as she had with him. But they both needed to let go, and Hermione couldn’t stand it anymore. 

Leaning forward, she captured his lips in a demanding kiss, trying to tell him with her mouth what she wanted. Thankfully for her, Charlie seemed to understand her instantly. He flipped onto his back, rolling Hermione to straddle his lap. His hardened cock pressed entirely against her, and she let out a whimper into his mouth. 

Charlie pulled away and chuckled, “I’ll take care of you, love.” 

The endearment sent a thrill through Hermione. 

“It’ll be easier to start like this for you, so you can control how much to take,” Charlie told her seriously as he ran his hands up and down her sides and under her breasts. “Do whatever you want.” 

As if those words hadn’t been permission enough, Charlie lifted her hips and settled the tip of his cock directly at her entrance. Then he let go and cupped the backs of her calves, squeezing once for encouragement and watching her with heated eyes. 

Hermione’s breath stuttered as she pressed down onto him. 

The moonlight streamed through the window, pale light reflecting across his face and chest. He looked ethereal as the dragon continued to rage an inferno across his skin. Hermione dragged a nail down the dragon’s neck, causing Charlie to suck in a breath. She focused entirely on Charlie as she pushed past the pain of being filled so wholly. It was an odd mix of euphoric aching and stinging pleasure. It hurt, yet she brimmed with the most desire she had ever felt. 

Hermione fell to her elbows once Charlie was fully seated inside her. Her forehead dropped to his shoulder as she quaked with unspent passion. Moving up and down once was pure agony; not in pain, but frustration. She wanted to move, wanted to feel Charlie pound into her. Yet her body seemed leaden under the weight of it all; like it knew she would combust. 

Fortunately for Hermione, Charlie understood her again. 

He flipped them around like she weighed no more than a bowtruckle. His hands found purchase against her breasts once more, and now that he was in control, Charlie began to move. His significant length seemed to fill her even more from this new angle, one leg thrown over his arm, her torso bent as he pressed against her.

Hermione let out a slew of expletives as he buried deep inside of her. 

A rumbled laugh in Charlie’s chest vibrated her own, his smiling lips moving against her neck. 

“You’re so tight, love. Fuck—I don’t think I’ll last long.” 

Hermione only groaned a reply, her tongue numb with delirium. She could feel her body sink with every thrust of Charlie’s hips. Every sweet word he whispered in her ear. Every squeeze of her breasts or tug on her nipples. 

“Did you like what you saw from the door?” Charlie grunted out. “Did you like watching me touch myself?” 

Hermione could only whimper. 

“I was thinking about this, you know. Thinking about fucking you—claiming you. I’ve thought about it for so long.” 

Then he turned his head and pressed a hot kiss to the mudblood scar on her arm, saying she was good, and his, and no one would take her from him. And Hermione fell over the edge again. 

She cried out so loudly that Charlie had to place a hand over her mouth. The waves of her orgasm crashed over her like the ocean, pulling her under and stifling her breath. She took large puffs of air from her nose as her sex pulsated around Charlie’s cock.

He followed soon after, spilling into her with a similar cry that Hermione didn’t even dare try to stifle. Pumping through both their orgasms, Charlie’s pace slowed as his muscles quivered around her. The dragon now let out short puffs of smoke, eyelids closed. 

Hermione giggled and touched her fingers gently to the tattoo, seeming to break Charlie out of whatever spell he had been in. He flopped to the bed next to her, placing one hand to his chest as he tried to catch his breath. Wide eyes stared at the ceiling, and Hermione laid next to him tentatively, unsure of what to do next. 

Charlie turned his head to her, ginger locks tangled. Hermione reached out to brush one from his face, and he gripped her wrist, pressing a trail of kisses from her fingers to her scar again. 

“I meant what I said,” he mumbled against her skin. “You are mine—if you’ll have me.” 

Hermione swallowed thickly and nodded, whispering yes in the space that separated them. Charlie gave her a dimpled grinned and pulled her next to him, stroking her curls lovingly as he pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. 

Realising something, Hermione sat up abruptly. “Charlie, we didn’t cast any silencing charms—”

Charlie interrupted her with a barked laugh. “Love, it’s a house full of teenage boys. Every room has permanent silencing charms on them.”

Hermione flushed and settled back onto his chest, which now shook with a chuckle. Despite herself, Hermione smiled as Charlie laughed. 

Once it died down, Charlie returned to stroking her hair. “How are you feeling?” 

“I’m fine,” Hermione said. And it was the truth; aside from some aching, she felt wonderful. Beautiful. Complete.

“Honestly,” she insisted as Charlie huffed. “I’m perfectly alright. Better than that I—” 

Charlie turned to look at her as she cut herself off. Hermione chewed on her lip to assuage her nerves and Charlie followed the movement. The liquid sapphire was back as they stared at each other, his hand now gripping her curls tightly. 

Hermione swallowed thickly. “Charlie, you said something about wanting to—to do that for so long...I want you to know that I have too.”

“Oh?” Charlie gave her a dimpled grinned as his finger traced heated circles atop her stomach. “And have you also thought about me while touching yourself?” 

She could see his cock hardening again as it twitched against his stomach. The urge to deflect and deny it coursed through her, but what was the point? She knew the answer Charlie wanted—and it was the truth, anyway. 

“Yes,” she whispered. “I have for years.” 

This time when they joined, it was slow and passionate. They both took their time learning each other’s bodies; the things they liked and didn’t. Hermione had never felt so beautiful and wanted in all her life. 

“Thank you for being my Christmas present this year, Hermione,” Charlie told her hours later as they laid pressed together. 

Hermione giggled and kissed the inside of his palm, snuggling closer to his chest. “Thank you for being mine.” 

Why she had wanted the holiday to be over quickly, Hermione couldn’t remember. The only thing she hoped for was that this night would never end. But Hermione was his, and Charlie was hers, and she supposed they would share many more nights like this. 

The worry of what came next flitted through her mind, but Hermione quieted the thoughts. For now, she would enjoy being in his arms. They would figure out the rest tomorrow, right after she basked in the satisfaction of Harry’s stunned face as she exited Charlie’s room in the morning. 

That thought, and the warmth of Charlie’s embrace, lulled her into the best sleep of her life. Sapphire eyes still plagued her dreams, but instead of being scared of it, Hermione finally enjoyed it. 

And in the morning, as she stepped into the chilled hallway with Charlie, the shocked look Harry gave her was better than she even imagined. 


End file.
